Approximation
by SydnieWren
Summary: Comfort is always only an approximation. Gin finds this out the hard way. GinxKira, very light AizenxSzayel. Anal, voyeurism. Dark.


**So I'm thinking this might be number two in what's going to turn out to be a Gin/Kira trilogy, starting with Heaven's Half-Hour and ending with whatever comes next! I really hope you guys are enjoying reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it. **

**As always, please review me. Your reviews really help and I'm always thankful for them!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

**Warnings: Anal, voyeurism, same-room-sex? **

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Las Noches was conceived around them like a dream, materializing from thought and suggestion into white marble and endless empty corridors. There were a few brief days of curiosity - Gin wandered the silent halls and became acquainted with the palace, seeking out the strange nooks and eerie features that he planned to take the most advantage of.

The novelty abruptly ended when Gin came to understand how perfectly lifeless Las Noches was. The light was sublime and clear and infinitely pure; sterile; it sought out corners and drove out the shadows. Color, in all its organic vibrance, could barely survive there: the walls were purest white and the floor - only in some places, seemingly random ones - was the sickly pale green of sea glass, or pestilence.

There were no echoes. Laughter did not trickle through the corridors. Murmurs did not seep into the air. Even the shuffling of cloth was lost in the unbearable silence, oppressive and present like another entity, another lord of Heuco Mundo.

He began to wander the halls, and at times, to change them. He came to know where all of the espada slept, and how, and when. He hated them for their inhumanity - no amount of their presence could ever amount to 'company'; they were only humanoid in appearance, their behavior was shallow, skin-deep, very little more than the instinctual actions of hungry animals. Tousen had always hated him and Aizen had come to merely watch him, Gin was sure of it. Sometimes he could feel the eyes as he aimlessly stalked the corridors, and sometimes he could not: but the knowledge that Aizen was ever-observing him never once left him.

He was lonely. He was lost in a world of suspended animation without life or sound. All objects were inanimate; he was wandering a skeleton, crawling through bones, crying out into nothing and hearing nothing in return.

When he requested tasks from Aizen, he was told simply to wait, that the time would come for his involvement, but later, much later.

"Just wondering is, all," he paused briefly and tucked his hands into his long sleeves, "ain't got nothin' to do, just been wanderin'..."

Gin's voice barely pierced the heaviness of Aizen's great hall, and the lord himself shifted in his throne, balancing his cheek on a closed fist.

"Perhaps you're missing something," he suggested darkly.

"Missin' what? I'm not sure I've got yer meanin'."

"Maybe you've lost more than a fraction of your comfort, Gin. You seem_ restless._"

"Maybe that's it," he breathed, surprised that his words didn't frost in the air.

"Comfort is always only an approximation, Gin."

"So what do ya suggest I do?" And the truth be told he was afraid.

"I believe I can provide an approximation of your comfort...Perhaps that would be enough to sustain you?"

But the words were like ice and Gin retreated slightly, unsure of what Aizen's particular brand of comfort entailed. He nodded politely and offered that cryptic grin, this time without much meaning. He turned and promised under his breath to sleep on it, though sleep itself seemed lately more of an abstraction than a common and right action.

Hours later he laid in his bed with his eyes fully open, a position uncomfortable to him as a rule, but it seemed to urge his thinking.

What's the worst he could do, anyhow? Could fuck me I guess. Could just do it an' I'd have next to no say. Can't really push it.

But he knew Aizen wouldn't stretch things to those extremes; if he had designs on Gin, he would have accounted for them long before. He had even happened upon a fair chance - the entire fiasco surrounding Gin's youthful frustrations - and declined. Planes and angles didn't suit the lord of Heuco Mundo. Hinamori's handfuls of breasts had barely been enough to interest him; had she not been so innocent, her thighs any less tender, he certainly would have pursued other avenues of release.

Still he hadn't the foggiest notion of what Aizen had in mind. Still it had to be superior to the solemn finality of Hueco Mundo's silence, if only for a few moments.

Later he returned.

Aizen was settled into his throne as per usual, some pink-haired little number settled in his lap, legs spread over the arms of the chair, the lord himself buried inside to the hilt. Aizen peered over his shoulder and momentarily stilled his thrusting.

"So I've been thinkin' on it..." Gin admitted, and the lord nodded with a self-satisfied smirk that turned his stomach.

"Ah, I see."

"Figured I'd give it the ol' try."

"Well then."

And Aizen straightened somewhat, held the trembling arrancar still, and was encompassed in reiatsu, thicker and crackling with energy. Gin stepped back on instinct and then stopped abruptly, startled by the image forming before him.

In a white yukata of Aizen's imagining, materializing from the delicate ankles up, long calves and supple thighs, was Izuru Kira. For a time, that particular ability had slipped his mind, but the eternal fukutaichou suddenly recalled it sharply.

Izuru had appeared in glowing relief. Aizen had managed to perfectly replicate the haunted expression Gin had left him with, and the peculiar sag of his shoulders, his dire thinness. When he moved toward his lover, it was with an ethereal glide, and his eyes were so much more blue than they ever had been.

Gin accepted his embrace with a hand on his narrow waist and fingers in his impossibly soft blond hair, a little smoother than the reality, an improvement on a beloved flaw. They kissed. Izuru's lips were pliant and he responded with a little more assurance than he had in the past - there was no past, Gin reminded himself.

This was only an approximation.

But he sank to the floor with his momentary Izuru, pulled his long limbs down over him, and let him settle softly on his hips. The blond's slender hands rose up and opened the yukata, and save for a few minor details, Aizen had reproduced his body with startling precision. Izuru's nipples were a slightly brighter shade of pink, his flesh a half-shade paler, but his hips were sharp and his sex fit in Gin's fingers just so, and it was enough.

"Ichimaru-taichou," he panted, letting the silk pool at his bottom.

"He calls me Gin," and his skeletal fingers spread over those gasping lips.

From that moment on he was only dimly aware of his audience. It was too desperately important, he craved it, needed Izuru at least one more time - their last encounter had been to abrupt and had left him raw and incomplete.

He brought the blond down for another deep kiss, slipping his fingers between their lips to drench them in their saliva, and their tongues slid between and against them, Izuru's over every joint, between each.

When he wrapped his arm around him, slid his fingers down beneath and pressed the first long digit inside, Izuru arched, cried out, panted against his mouth.

"Oh, Gin..."

And as he pushed the second inside, he found that the blond was opening his uniform, seeking his lean chest with adoring kisses, those soft lips on his neck and collar bones, and he wanted to speak but bit back on his words, he couldn't let him see -

Withdrawing his fingers, he reached under Izuru to open the lower layers and shove his pants down over his hips, freeing his dripping sex. He settled the very tip against that shy entrance and stroked his back, soothing him as he sank down, hips bucking as his lover's arousal brushed over that sensitive spot inside him.

Izuru's hands grasped at his shoulders and Gin steadied him by the waist, already gasping breaths himself; the blond was tight, he was somehow slick, and the muscles within him were grasping and pulsing.

"Izuru," he hissed through clenched teeth, bucking up into him, wracked with some indescribable pleasure transcendent of coitus. His sharp shoulder blades ground into the stone floor and he was barely conscious of it, his tight abdominal muscles tensing fiercely as he thrust into his lover desperately.

"Gin, Gin, oh, - god, Gin -" Izuru tossed his head back and all of that pale hair flowed over his shoulders; Gin was stroking his sex as his orgasm pulsed through him, spilling seed over those skeletal fingers.

It was futile and Gin thought he might have already been dissipating when he slung his arms over him, brought them cheek-to-cheek as he came inside him, still thrusting quick and deep, crying out with each of them.

"Izuru," he panted, fingers tangling in his hair, "I've missed ya, I've missed - ah!"

He was seconds from murmuring _I love you_ when the image was gone, leaving him sprawled on the floor, breathing hard, inexplicably cold and fairly covered in his own sweat and seed.

Wordlessly, he sat up, now keenly aware of the eyes of Aizen and the arrancar on him. Slowly he wrapped his uniform around himself, righting what he could with minimal dignity, and he composed himself - shut his eyes, grinned, shakily stood.

They watched him go.

"Pathetic," the arrancar murmured.

Aizen seemed vaguely amused.

"There was a time when I would've thought him slightly above it," he remarked.

But maybe there never had been such a time, or otherwise there had never been such a necessity.

Back in his room, Gin began to understand the borders of approximation.

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**Thanks again for the read; please review!**


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